The Toughest Job

There was once a military commercial that said "The toughest job you'll ever love."

I scoffed and laughed every time it was on.

Men crawled through mud under fences and I thought it was nothing compared to trying to giving a toddler a bath after getting him back from a chocohaulic auntie.

A drill sergeant screaming at you? Try a hungry infant, with a fever, at 3am the day you have to be up at 7 for a final exam. Or alternately, I would like to suggest facing down the freshly angered tween. This is a beast who will say anything to hurt you since you stopped them from playing a video game and texting in order to do the dreaded chores. Suddenly Sergeant Slaughter seems like a lick-happy puppy.

Live artillery training? How about negotiating a Lego minefield with the foot marring addition of Hot Wheels cars while attempting to dodge the projectile vomit in order to change baby's diaper before the inevitable diarrhea bout kicks in. Seriously, the idea of facing down a tank seems pleasant now, doesn't it?

I would love to take exception with the military for falsehood in advertising. It could never compare to motherhood, which I undertook as a single, college student. I know, not ideal but I have to say, I wouldn't change a thing.

I love being a mom. I HATE being a parent. Parents have to make tough decisions, they have to set rules and make the kids stick to them, they have to get up at 5am on Saturday to make sure their child is at wrestling practice by 6am. Parents have to make kids eat broccoli, do homework and go to bed in the middle of a favorite show.
It brings to mind the age old parental adage "This hurts me more than it hurts you."
I never would have thought it, but it's true! The day I figured it out I was floored.

Parenthood hurts more than being a child does.

My mothers heart breaks when my son hurts, but I pretend to be strong to help him heal.
My mothers heart shatters when he tries, and fails. I smile and encourage him to try again ignoring my own pain.
My mothers heart stops when we fight because I fear that he will forget how much I love him, no matter how often I say it. Still, I fight him anyway knowing that once he learns that homework really is important, he will be a better man for it.

Being a parent, a mother, is the toughest job anyone could ever love.

From the Mind of a Foibled Mortal

I have a theory about people.
I believe that we become so caught up being someone else's something that our own personalities get lost along the way. I also think that while in that position, reality grips us so firmly that we forget what it is like to get lost in a fantasy, even for a moment.
Daydreams give way to "Honey-do lists".
Desires transform into dinner plans.
Hope and wishes become silent prayers about bills and children.
I've seen it.
I've lived it.
None of these are bad, but that are not the sum of who we are.

I've witnessed adults who want to play with the same freedom they had as children but who seem to have forgotten how. Those who seek simplicity and adventure, afar and in their own backyards, but fail to recognize it.
Abandon, joy, a sense of self, self-awareness enough to embrace who we are as individuals as well as maintain those relationships without losing ourselves to them. They are within reach, I think.

I've had it. I've since lost it in the back of a closet with my son's other wrestling shoe, the favored green shirt of my fiance and my sanity but I promise I did have it once.

And I want it again.

To recapture it I need to look at my past, for that is where it started, and where it was lost.
I need to look at where I am now, what I'm doing and how it all adds up.

These aren't excavations as much as stories. I'm not a psychologist and am incapable of going all Freud on myself without breaking into fits of giggles.
Instead I want to revisit stories, personal myths and legends, lessons that harbor seeds of wisdom and encourage me to be open to every possibility.

So here I am to share the whispers of days gone by, chronicle the now and ponder the paths I've yet to travel.
It won't be easy. I expect laughter, tears and a bucket load of "what the hells" and "reallys?" to come up along the way but that's the best part.
What's the use of a story if it doesn't tug, push. pull or effect something?

*deep breath*

Here we go.
Flaws, mortality and all.